There weren't too many opportunities for Jones to arrange or conduct during the course of this project, which is angled towards the vocal performance, whether sung or rapped. Its instrumental contributions serve mostly as a backdrop to the posturings of its guests.

When all's said, Some Kind of Trouble is not a terrible record by any means, but there's little sense that Blunt has advanced--and equally little sense that it'll make any difference to his bottom line.

Braxton's sixth album Pulse--some five years in the making--is certainly a release shrouded with anticipation, but instead of sticking to her strength in ballads it feels more a trend-chasing American Idol semi-finalist's debut offering.

The mid-section lets him down, slumping into the bad habits of his debut solo album.

More often, however, Orbits has too much going on rather than too little.

Sadly, much of the rest conforms to a malaise that's afflicted him since 2002's Have You Fed the Fish?: repetitive tracks consisting of one looping half-melody that outstays its welcome by several months.

Etiolation and enervation were always key to chillwave/glo-fi's appeal, but this is just too pallid, too washed-out.

Apart from the odd soulful moment and some clever production, there is nothing here that sets them apart from their obvious influences.

As it turns out, Spears' seventh studio album is part-success and part astounding failure, mixing some of her very best songs with hideous black holes.

Hope is their third studio album and touted as their step up. In truth, it comes on in leaps and bounds as much as it trips and stumbles along the way.

They're too bland, too safe and too boring.

Mine Is Yours occupies an unremarkable middle ground somewhere between their bluesy, abrasive tendencies and the kind of staidly proficient indie-rock that surely wasn't part of the plan to begin with.

This should have been a fiery celebration of three decades of waving the ragged punk rock banner; instead, it's a laurel-resting plodder.

It opens the door to tantalising, exciting possibilities, but it's also fragmented, distracted and indulgent.

They're probably the only band in history whose latest album would sound better if they did not appear on it.

Perfectly serviceable, but this band missed their chance to make a third great album decades ago.

Robbins' first foray into music is a misstep compared to his successful acting career.

What it's not, though, is a collection that confirms the arrival of a significant solo talent. It's too patchy, too hurried, the powers behind it too eager to capitalise on the artist's current chart success.

The lyrics mingle optimism and deliberate naivety, with even the downer moments coming across as exultantly miserable rather than genuinely forlorn. Rhodes is undoubtedly sincere, but maybe at the expense of potential humour and irony.

Though its combative title suggests Khaled cares little for anybody's approval, Kiss the Ring ends up more of a formulaic slugging match than any collection of genuine rap prize-fighters really should.

While some of this album is beautiful and delicate, at other times its vocal and musical honey smothers the intimacy of the lyrics.

Whatever your take on the chillwave phenomenon--that brand of overexposed, Polaroid pop mining childhood memories kick-started (arguably) by Animal Collective's influential album Merriweather Post Pavilion--it's a conversation that's happened, and Equatorial Ultravox does little to further the debate.

Disappointing fare from Britpop revivalists on the receiving end of critical vitriol.

Like many a "supergroup" before them, this one doesn't quite meet the expectations that their combined reputations create.

Freedom of Speech shows that one of Britain's most intriguing hopes still has some serious thinking to do.

Reanimated glam-punk pioneers get dafter as they get older.

The fact that the climax comprises the closest thing to a substantial recording on the album is an indictment of a release that one suspects would not have made the stores had the Hendrix estate not wished to offer a bone to new label Sony following the end of their distribution deal with Universal.

In the end, it's a matter of taste. If you can handle a lot of wacky in your pop music, there's a lovely album here waiting for you. If not, Corinne Bailey Rae is over there.